The scene has been repeated many times on the field of battle. A man is down, and a comrade without hesitation risks his own life to carry the wounded man to safety. The same scene is repeated every day in less dramatic ways on the battlefield of life. A comrade is down, and a man lends a hand.
Sometimes the hardships that waylay a friend are simply the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” and sometimes the hardships are brought about by the persons own failings. Even when the friend lets his buddies down with his own failings, they don’t forsake him, for they see his failure as one they easily might have done themselves.
A man may also carry a friend by carrying on without him after he is gone. I had a friend named Don. We both became Christians at age eleven. We went to high school together. We went to college together. Don loved fast cars. One day I was riding with him in his brand new 1972 Plymouth ‘Cuda when he hit an unexpected sheet of water in the road. We turned many different directions before he skillfully brought the car under control without a scratch. That was only one of several times he had close brushes with injury.
In his second year of college, Don began following a bad road. He quit going to church. He made friends with people who loved fast cars and had a callous disregard for authority. Speeding tickets led to running from the law. “Borrowing” things from junkyards led to breaking and entering and petty larceny. When I learned about his crimes I was shocked, but I really didn’t know how to reach him to change. I don’t believe his parents suspected what he was doing. I was afraid that if he were caught the consequences would be dire, and that his parents would be devastated. I was hoping that he would see the light on his own, but maybe I was just hiding my own light. A few months later, he was driving fast on Interstate 65 going south from Nashville in a heavy rain when he lost control and slammed into the Harpeth River bridge. They say he died instantly.
I have carried his memory for thirty-three years now, and I also carry a burden of “what ifs.” What if I had reacted differently to his actions? What if I had “ratted on him” to the law or even to his parents? Might he still be alive today? I imagine his parents would rather have had him alive and in trouble than never to have him again.
God’s economy of action being perfect, maybe it was time for Don to leave this earth, but also time for his friends to be instructed in a life lesson. If I can learn from a friends death, then that death hasn’t been completely in vain.
The “what ifs” may seem like a heavy burden to carry on my heart for thirty-three years, but in a way, Don has carried me. Don has taught me to stand up for what I believe, or to live with the consequences forever. That’s a comrade I’m glad to carry.